


Relics and Remembrances

by flecksofpoppy



Series: Poppy's Adventures in Night Ficcing [30]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Ficlet, Gen, Letters, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7774546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The privilege of cleaning out the possessions of a loved one is rare; regardless, Levi has never particularly reveled in rare privileges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relics and Remembrances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiggeryumyum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/gifts).



> This is my first little eruri fic that I've done outside of a commission years ago! I've fallen deeply into hell since the events of 84... I've always shipped it, but my feels just exploded, and now I'm here. c: This was a first attempt based on a prompt a kind soul sent me. <3
> 
> Prompt was: _levi packing up erwin's belongings, long after the events of 84_

_“What do you call it, when you are young? How do you define youth?”_ It’s an idle question Erwin asked once, when he was young himself.

Levi doesn’t know why the memory surfaces now as he’s sorting through the desk of a dead Commander. The dust on its surface is thick, with some floating in the calm sunlight like an undisturbed tomb, and he opens drawers that have stayed shut for half a year, since the time of broken roof tiles.

The privilege of cleaning out the possessions of a loved one is rare; regardless, Levi has never particularly reveled in rare privileges.

It’s a chore that Hanji shunned after rooting around in those drawers hours after Erwin’s death, finding what could be of use for their cause, and then exiting.

She had said after the fact, when the time came: _will you go?_

He still isn’t sure whether she considered it a favor to him, or to herself.

Now, aside from field notes, maps, and formations that have already been retrieved, Levi finds pointless things—baubles and trinkets wrought solely of Erwin’s own fanciful moments of distraction.

Levi holds his breath as he pulls the items out, one by one.

A sheath of letters, uncharacteristically messy and loose in a leather folio, the string tied hastily at last closure.

Levi doesn’t dare open it, setting it aside as gently as he would a dead friend.

Next, a small book Erwin had mentioned once—only once—contraband according to both governments about texts that caused “problems.” It’s a series of small pages documenting different hours and prayers. Prayers are something Levi didn’t know had a name until Erwin put an antiquated term to it—pleas to the beyond.

Levi never really prayed before, but every once in a while, it seems like it cant hurt.

The book of hours he tucks into his pocket; he’s always been stealthy, and even though he’s pledged himself to a sigil of wings, underneath it all, hiding precious things is a skill that he’ll never lose.

Third is a pile of bloodied patches bearing the Wings of Freedom—though some of are also Garrison or Military Police—and Levi also puts those aside gently. They represent deaths that Erwin apparently felt more personally responsible for than others on the battlefield. More stories lost to the grave.

There’s not much else in the drawer after these findings—strangely patterned paper stuck into the bottom that Erwin had once mentioned his father used to stick on walls—silly baubles that a man in Erwin’s position would expectedly shun.

But Levi knows Erwin, knows that the floral paper in his drawers is very much like the outside world, a menagerie of forgotten memories.

Levi prides himself on not forgetting—whether it’s the names of cadets under his command or the way his friends’ heads looked in the dirt—he refuses to let things fade into obscurity he doesn’t wish to.

Obscurity is what led humanity to forget how Titans formed, how the Walls were built, how wars created literal monsters.

Instead, he sits down in the chair still indented with Erwin’s weight, and decides to open the folio of correspondence.

The first letter from years ago reads:

_Dear Levi, I am truly sorry for Isabelle and Farlan. They were noble, and—_

Levi snorts and rolls his eyes. How sincere, how Erwin—regardless that Isabel’s name is spelled wrong—how nostalgic. He wouldn’t be surprised if this was a first, forgotten draft.

The second letter he pulls randomly from the middle reads:

_Captain Ackerman,_

_These letters are silly, I am aware, but today I am pleased you’ve stayed and—_

Never sent, apparently. 

Levi’s breath catches, his throat tightens; he looks up to confirm the door is locked even as his hand fists, fingers clenched hard.

He sits for a time quietly, staring down at the desk that no one will ever write on again, that Erwin will never sit at again, and considers it before flipping to the last page.

_Dear Levi,_

_I’ve no right to ask this, but without my arm, I’m afraid I cannot promise any kind of outcome that will please you, or me. I hope you might read this ridiculous handwriting. My legs are yours to be broken. On that topic, I must confess that—_

Levi shuts the leather folio abruptly, staring into the sunlight-bitten air as he tries to remember how to breathe without effort.

His heart hammers as he searches for a response.

_Dear Erwin…_

The paper remains blank for a time, until the office is used for storing guns and supplies; and finally, Levi begins to write.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://flecksofpoppy.tumblr.com/). :D


End file.
